


The Voice In Your Ear

by starredthought



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: F/M, Feminism, Major Original Character(s), Young Kingsman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starredthought/pseuds/starredthought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Kingsman's newest agent, Harry Hart has proven himself superior to his fellow candidates, but he still has a lot of work to do before he is truly a force to be reckoned with. His guidance takes an unlikely form, as Kingsman's only female agent teaches him how to be both a gentleman, and a Kingsman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Dub Thee Galahad

**Author's Note:**

> A backstory of Harry Hart. Sorry to the Hartwin shippers. The events predating "Mr. and Mrs. Hart." This will be focusing quite a lot on Guinevere at times. Sorry not sorry.

Harry felt the weight of the blade on his shoulder.

“…to swear your loyalty until death…”

He didn’t know where to look. At the floor? His knees? Up at his face?

“…yourself, your country, and your fellow man…”

He chose the floor and closed his eyes.

“…through bravery and courage may you bring about peace and order…”

His knees were sore. How was this the hardest part? He felt the weight transfer from one shoulder, to the other.

“…I dub thee, Galahad.”

* * *

 

It had been a small ceremony. People had things to do, missions to plan. However, Kingsman understood the importance of supporting their own. Harry looked around the room as he sipped from a flute of champagne. No one really paid him any mind. He figured that he was just another body to be lost, a liability, at least until he proved himself. He stuck his hand in his pocket and paced around toward the door when a familiar face entered.

 “Look at you, all official with your medallion and your code name. You’re the real deal now, Harry. I mean—Galahad.” Merlin clapped his hand onto his friends shoulder and Harry smiled toward the floor.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” He turned the medallion over in his palm. _Consilo et animas._ By wisdom and courage. “Thank you for coming. I was wondering if they’d let you go.”

“Took a bit of begging and pleading and then some productivity, but here I am. Couldn’t let you get through this alone now, could I?” Merlin took a glass of champagne from a nearby serving table. “To Galahad. We’ll make something of him yet.” Harry raised his brows and clinked his glass against Merlin’s before taking another sip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur approach and Harry instinctively straightened up for his mentor. Merlin mirrored his posture and put his hand in his pocket.

“Galahad, there is someone I need you to meet. Excuse us, Merlin.” Arthur started to walk to the opposite side of the room. Harry followed behind with a glance back to Merlin who sipped his champagne and walked away to find other entertainment. Harry instinctively fiddled with the medallion again. He and Arthur stopped before a woman in an armchair, looking out the window before they approached. “This, is Guinevere. Our quartermaster.”

“Quartermaster. Chief engineer. Best chance you’ve got at surviving in the field.” Her tone was not condescending, but it was as firm as her handshake as she stood from her seat. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Galahad.” She gave him a polite smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, Guinevere.” Harry realized at that moment that his mentor was gone in the crowd again, and it was just him left with his new quartermaster. She was dressed to fit the party, in a smart, brown, pinstriped pantsuit, tamed blonde hair to her shoulders, and glasses that mimicked Merlin’s in style. “So…chief engineer?”

“He always wants to leave that out for some reason. Arthur is fine with admitting a woman supplying the weapons and gadgets. Designing them? Not so much.” Harry found himself a bit distracted between her Scottish accent and her red lipstick that gave life to every word. “I think he’s a sexist, but you didn’t hear that from me, you understand?” Harry nodded in agreement. He hadn’t seen another female in Kingsman so far, even in the med wing. The girl must be good.

“So…what exactly do you specialize in?” Harry asked, running his fingers through his hair nervously. Guinevere took a seat, so he followed suit in an opposite armchair.

“Well, I work on anything that Kingsman operates with, weapon wise. I’m pretty active in the R&D side of things. But mostly I serve as an extra set of eyes and ears for the agents out in the field. I’m that little voice in your ear. _That_ is my specialty.” Harry swallowed harshly and crossed his legs.

“Gwen specializes in being a workaholic.” Merlin sat down on the arm of her chair and Harry saw her reach up and tug his hair until he winced. He’d never been more thankful to see his friend in his life.

“I will give you fair warning. Unless you want that voice in your ear to address you as ‘Gally’ then you will not follow my little brother’s example and call me Gwen. Bleeding hell.” She loosened her grip and Merlin only smiled at his ability to rile her up. Harry looked between the two, trying to spot similarities, but the only real one was their way of speaking. “I’ll shape you up into a true gentleman yet. A few near misses should snap you into place.” Merlin shoved her shoulder and she laughed, bobbing right back into place. “Just joshing.”

She glanced at the Rolex on her wrist and stood up, smoothing out her trousers as she did. “Unfortunately, I need to get back to my job. Gotta save the world.” She turned to Harry and held out her hand. Harry knew he should stand, but he didn’t want to. Not here, now, or with Merlin and his sister. But he took a deep breath, set his flute to the side, adjusted a hand in his pocket and stood up, shaking her hand.

“Wonderful to meet you, Guinevere.” _Stop looking at her lipstick._

“Have Merlin bring you down to my apartment sometime. We can _play_.” She gave him a firm shake and then turned to leave the room. Merlin saw Harry staring after her and then lightly slapped his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harry. A big reason Arthur took her on in the first place was because she could be a huge asset for honeypot missions. By ‘play’ she means use you as a guinea pig for all of her developed designs.” Harry looked at his friend and then toward the door.

“Can we leave?” Harry asked. Merlin glanced down toward Harry’s pocket.

“Think you might have to, mate.” Harry rolled his eyes and left before anyone else could notice.


	2. The Train Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is assigned to his first solo mission, but a lapse in focus nearly causes the whole thing to go awry.

The phone gave Harry a heart attack the next morning at 5:30am. “What?” he breathed in a panic after being awoken.

“Rise and shine, Galahad. You’re needed in the briefing room.” It was strange to hear Merlin talking (almost) officially to him. “You’ll want to put some trousers on.”

“Thank you for the tip. Good day.” He hung up and groaned into his hands, trying to expel the previous night’s sleep from his body. He hastily washed his face and shaved, dressed into a pair of grey slacks and a sweater and headed up to the briefing room in the basement of the manor. Merlin, Guinevere, and Arthur were waiting for him when he arrived.

“Glad you could join us, Galahad,” Arthur greeted from the head of the table. Harry sat down uncomfortably next to him. Merlin turned on the projector in the room to show a map of London. “We’ve received intelligence of a bomb threat in central London Underground to be carried out at 0800 during the morning rush. As far as we know this will be an isolated incident, but we should treat it as if there will be a second wave during the distraction they plan to cause.”

“Who exactly are ‘they’?” Harry asked.

“A pair of brothers from Argentina. Veterans of their national army who feel the desire to increase the UK’s death toll after the Falkland conflict.” Merlin changed a few slides to show photos that they’d acquired of the brothers. “You are to find and disable to explosive, and incapacitate the brothers if you come across them.”

“We are working to establish visuals on them as we speak,” Guinevere interjected. “You’ll be outfitted with military grade personal protective equipment with the necessary tools for disabling the explosive. You will also receive a prototype of camera glasses so I may aide in the disarming of the device from a first person perspective if needed.” The glasses were large with thick rims, hardly high fashion, even for the 1980s. Harry held them in his hands and they were heavy even, but if they had a camera and a light then they were fine by him.

“In the event that you need to be on the defensive, you will have two Beretta 92Fs with a total of four clips and suppressors.” She held up the pistol and set it down on the table. “As usual you have your ear-com and can keep in contact with this base throughout the duration of the mission.” After hearing Guinevere flirt the way she had at the reception after his knighting, hearing her speak so formally was almost as foreign as hearing it out of Merlin.

“You’ll have eight minutes between the trains to disable the device and the brothers. Any questions?”

* * *

 

<< _I have visual_ >>

“Copy.”

<< _The explosive is just east of your location. Please put on the glasses…visual confirmed_ >>

“Device in sight.”

<<… _How very James Bond of them_ >> Harry chuckled and nodded to himself. The explosive was stuffed away into the wall and looked like something out of a campy spy film, with blinking lights and a countdown reading 00:05.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Harry muttered as he opened the device, the timer ticking down by the second.

<< _You must trust me, Galahad_ >> Her tone was reassuring, but it still seemed like a cop-out of an answer to Harry. He turned on the light on the side of his glasses and got to work unscrewing the device.

“Is there going to be a red and a blue wire?”

<< _Now is not the time_ >>  _Right_.  << _If you open that door, the timer will expire_ >> Harry immediately took his hands off. << _Carefully turn the device on its side to reveal the bottom. There should be another door. Open that_ >> She spoke in a way that mirrored Harry’s own thoughts, had he known exactly what he was doing. It felt unobtrusive, and like a calm through the storm.

<< _I have movement twenty meters to your right. Two persons_ >> Harry turned immediately and strained to listen for signs of life. He reached instinctively for his gun. << _I need you to deactivate the bomb, in case they can activate it remotely_ >> 00:04

Harry reached for the wire cutters in his vest and focused on the web within. He knew she was speaking to him but he didn’t hear her. He was just looking into the web. There were no red wires or blue wires, just black. Black on black on black. He reached in with a steady hand, and—

<< _GALAHAD!_ >> He flinched and threw his hand over his ear. He expected the bomb to go off at that moment, but instead, when he looked up, he was staring up at two pistols. _Oh._

He swatted the two away with his arm and used the momentum to roll onto his feet. He could easily withdraw his Berettas and kill them, but that would leave a mess and cause a ruckus that the people on the platform could hear, even with the suppressor. _Incapacitate the brothers._ He ran at the first and jumped, kicking him in the chest. The second drew a knife and Harry dodged two stabs before he swiped his legs out from under him. He removed his glove and gave him 50,000 volts with his signet ring to the neck.

The first brother ran back to him. Harry blocked his punches with his forearms, but failed to connect in return. Harry reached for his wire cutters and thrust them toward his assailant’s stomach. The brother wretched Harry’s arm behind his back instead. He turned into a bow and rose with a kick, sending the brother into the wall. He ran for the knife of the electrocuted brother and went back for the elder. He threw his elbow into the bomber’s face and then jammed the knife into the man’s carotid artery.

He felt it was over as quickly as it started. He was breathing hard, looking between the brother still shaking from residual shocks, and the other bleeding profusely from his neck. He had done that all on his own. He had no one else to blame. He had done a lot with his training, but he’d never killed anyone. He slumped against the Underground wall, focusing on his breath. He could hear people mulling around on the platform, not far from him, just going about their day, and not having to worry about getting blown up on their way to work on a Monday morning. All because he’d killed two people.

Then he remembered the bomb.

He ran across the tracks, and he swore that in the distance he could hear a rumbling in the tunnel. 00:01. “Gwen, I need you.”

<< _The door you had open, reach in and there should be a switch on the left side_ >> Her tone was urgent but in control and Harry did as he was advised. << _Now cut the wire attached to that switch_ >> Harry felt the earth shaking underneath him as the train got closer. He kept his hand steady as he reached in and cut.

A light came into view. He looked at the tracks and saw the body lying across. He made a quick judgment, ran, and snatched the bleeding corpse off the rails. He pressed himself and the body up against the wall, blood smearing his face and his front, just as the train passed behind him. He tensed every muscle to keep him upright and trembled from the effort to keep up dead weight. He remained against the cold wall of the Underground until the cars passed. Once clear, he let his knees collapse beneath him. He wiped his brow and breathed heavily over the sounds of travelers and trains.

<< _Galahad? Are you alright? We’re coming in to clean it all up. Galahad?_ >>

“Guinevere. I’m sorry. I missed it.”

<< _There’s a door five meters to your left. Take it and you’ll be intercepted to come back to base_ >> Harry rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He could use a cup of tea and a hot bath.

“Thank you.”

<< _Anytime_ >>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to see a bit of Harry in action! Still working on writing fight scenes. Comments and kudos are adored! Much more to come!


	3. Work and Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Merlin have some banter after Harry's mission, and Guinevere has them try out a new toy.

The debriefing with Guinevere was uncomfortable. Harry sat across the table from her as she went over the details of the mission, and they discussed what went well and what went wrong. He felt like he was listening to his mother, who was _disappointed_ in him. She never once used sour language with Harry, but her tone spoke louder than any of the words, like one of his professors who expected him to do better on his final.

“This _will not_ happen again, Galahad.”

“This will not happen again,” he repeated.

“Good, you’re dismissed.” She picked up her papers to deliver to Arthur. Harry left the debriefing room to find Merlin in his quarters tinkering with a radio transmitter.

“My sister give you a what-for?” he asked, unscrewing the battery pack.

“Let’s just say I’m thankful to be an only child.” He went to the corner of the space to prepare himself a cup of tea. “How have you spent your day?”

“I sat in on your mission with Gwen, and after that I’ve just been doing this. It’s 1983. We have to be able to make this the size of a thumbnail by now and have it run on something better than batteries that can be bought at the grocery.” Harry poured the water over the teabag and waited for it to steep for three minutes.

“Finally going to put your dual degree of engineering and computer science to use, are you?”

“Better than you, classics and modern languages.”

“ _Ferme la bouche.”_ He removed the tea bag and put in a spot of cream and a spoonful of sugar.

“That’s a low blow, Harry. Even for you.” Merlin spoke as if to an infant. Harry smiled at him and sat opposite him on the couch. It felt like they were both back at Oxford after exams when they had time to relax and banter back and forth. He crossed one leg over the other and took a sip of his tea. The warm liquid running down his throat was just what the doctor ordered.

“Do you miss field work, Merlin?” Harry was already starting to feel sore from his altercation. He had been given the luxury of a quick shower before the debriefing, so he would have to postpone his warm bath to ease his muscles.

Merlin put aside the radio. “Sometimes? It’s nice feeling like an agent, really getting your hands dirty and working with all the equipment and all that, but at the same time, it’s a bit nice not risking life and limb.”

“At least your own. You’re going to be a handler one day.”

“So treat me nicely.” He tossed his legs over the arm of the chair. “It’s like at university, Harry. You were the one that was suave and was the captain of the rugby team while I was stuck away in my room working on circuits or out drinking with the IT boys. There’s a very distinct gap between us and I just don’t think it’s meant to close anytime soon. And I’m alright with that.”

“Well then thank goodness random roommate assignments caused us to build a bridge then.” He took another sip. “And to be fair, you’re the most athletic computer scientist I’ve ever met.”

“Ta.”

* * *

 

The next morning at 5am, Harry woke up to take a run around the estate. He dressed in his jumpsuit from his training, the only clothes he had that he was willing to intentionally sweat in. He whistled for Mr. Pickle, who immediately came to his side and followed him out of the house. He took in a deep breath, and kicked off down the trails in the back.

Mr. Pickle set his own path, intertwining with Harry at intervals as he kept a steady pace throughout the acreage. It felt good, to just run. There was little strategy. No matter of life and death. Just one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Just remember to breathe. His only noise was the sound of the morning birds and the crunching of dirt underfoot.

He started to head back to the house after thirty minutes so he could go back and get in some strength training before much of the morning started. He started back on a straight stretch toward the front, and swore he heard more than one set of footfalls in the area he previously thought was desolate. He turned his head quickly and was greeted with Guinevere’s tired smile, her face naked of makeup and beaded with sweat.

“Good morning,” he said, wanting to tread lightly. He didn’t know if she was still upset with him. Women were sneaky in that way.

“Morning, Galahad. Heading back?” She was dressed similarly to him in a shapeless jumpsuit. Harry almost expected her to be in a one piece leotard and tights, but then again Arthur might have had a stroke if he saw her in that.

“Yeah, been out about thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes?! You haven’t seen any of the estate!” Harry noticed that she had slowed her page to keep up with him. “I’ve got about 12 miles under my feet in the last hour and a half. It takes me on a good circuit around the grounds. Beautiful.” She’d sustained an average of nine miles an hour at least, and on top of that had been running since—

“You got up at 4am to run?”

“Every day except for Sundays, when I don’t have a mission to handle. It’s a nice way to clear my head at the beginning of the day. Get me in the zone, so to speak.” She turned toward him. “Just because I’m not an agent doesn’t mean that I don’t like to leave you all in the dust.” Harry struggled to get a laugh out, and went to retort, but she had already picked up her pace and run ahead of him with a courtesy wave. “Grab Merlin and come find me later! We can play!”

* * *

 

Merlin and Harry sauntered out onto the grounds of the estate in the early afternoon. There was a slight rain coming down but Guinevere had _insisted_ that they come out and test some of the new gear she’d developed.

They walked to the back of the property where there was an old shooting range tucked away. Guinevere stood with an umbrella shielding her from the rain. She’d certainly dolled up since the run, with some subtle eye makeup and her red lipstick that smirked at them from meters away.

“You two look like you could use a bit of coverage.”

“Gwen, honestly this rain is going to murder my hair,” Merlin whined.

“Shave it and shove it.” She walked over to Harry. “Care for an umbrella?” she asked, handing him a plain black one with a curved handle.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He took it and their hands brushed for a moment. She turned and he opened it in front of him. Before he could raise it over his head, she pulled a pistol out of her underarm holster and fired multiple times at Harry. He ducked behind the umbrella until she emptied her eight shot magazine. When Harry looked out from overtop of the umbrella, Guinevere had an eat shit grin on her lips.

Merlin looked at his sister like she’d just kicked his dog. “Are you mad?”

“A Kingsman agent needs to be prepared for anything. This is going to help you do that.” Harry inspected the umbrella. There was not a hole in the fabric. The bullets littered the ground in front of him. “After all, what good is a weapon if you have your hands full with your umbrella?” She lowered her own. “Bulletproof, up to a 45 caliber at a point blank range. The shaft is constructed out of a lightweight steel, so it can be used as a melee weapon in a pinch.”

“I can’t imagine it has any offensive abilities,” Harry observed.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She modeled on her own, aiming at the targets of the range. “Twist the handle anti-clockwise until the trigger clicks. It’s like turning off your safety. There are 3 stun pellets in the shaft that can fire up to 10 meters and still do significant damage.” She aimed. Clicked. Fired. With the sound of a pistol with an effective suppressor, the pellet _fwooped_ into the target.

She turned and gauged the boy’s reactions, though she was obviously very sure of her abilities by the smile on her face. “There’s a lot still to work on. After all, the aim isn’t fantastic when you can’t see what you’re shooting at. There has to be a way for the material to hold up act sort of like a two way mirror, but I haven’t gotten it yet.” Merlin took his umbrella and aimed toward the target, peaking over the top. When he thought he was lined up with the bullseye, he fired, but the pellet was inches off target. “It’s something that will be fixed. This is just the first couple models to be produced.”

“Gwen, where have you been hiding this?” Merlin asked.

“In plain sight. That’s the best part. No one will expect trouble from a man in a suit with an umbrella in London.”

Harry held the umbrella over his head. “Bulletproof…and rainproof. I think this could be a real winner if you continue to develop it. Do you mind if I keep this one?”

Guinevere shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”

“Could I walk you back to the house?” She took a couple steps toward him until she was under his umbrella.

“Don’t see why not.”


	4. Killer Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Guinevere greet a new class of candidates proposed to create a new position, but things go south quickly.

Kingsman was expanding. The world was getting bigger than in order to adapt to the increase in need, another agent would be added to the team, under the codename Bors. Each of the senior Kingsman agents put forth a candidate. Harry met up with Guinevere, and they sank deeper and deeper into the underbelly of the estate to meet the candidates in the barracks.

“Have you done this before?” he asked as they descended with the elevator.

“Twice. Let’s see what crop the veterans have come up with this time.” Harry noticed something about her composure. It was guarded, authoritative. She stood straighter and clutched her clipboard in her hand as she walked through the hallways with a purpose. Despite Harry having longer legs, she matched him stride for stride. Her hair was tied back and away from her face. Once they reached the barracks, she opened the door. “After you, Galahad.”

The candidates mingled but two camps had obviously formed by age group. The range had to be fifteen or twenty years between the youngest and oldest candidate. Harry had been the youngest in his class by far, but now the under-thirty crowd dominated the group.

“Fall in.” The recruits answered to Harry and a straight line in front of him and Guinevere.

“Welcome to the most dangerous job interview in the world,” she started. “All of you have proven yourself as standout men in your field, but here, you will all start in the same place: the bottom. Starting now, at any time during this process, you may be challenged to complete a task, solve a problem, or neutralize a threat. This is not the boy scouts.”

One of the youngest recruits raised his hand and looked toward Harry. “Excuse me sir, but no one said there would be women here.” Guinevere’s expression betrayed no surprise, but Harry noticed a slight grit in her jaw.

“Oh, well, I should remember to put that in next year’s brochure,” Guinevere retorted, matter-of-factly. “My secretarial work is a bit rusty.” Harry swallowed a laugh. “My name is Guinevere. I am your quartermaster, chief handler, and engineer. I will be with your throughout the training process, and will ensure that you meet Kingsman’s standards for gentlemanly conduct.”

The young recruit spoke up again, out of turn. “And how do you plan to do that, love?” The air in the room became dense and Harry held his breath. There was not even a clock to tick away the time.

Guinevere took calculated steps toward the young man to break the silence. She stared him straight in the eyes, trapping him beneath her gaze. “Well, you’re going to have to take me.” She never took her gaze off him.

“Just tell me where and when.” Harry raised his brows. The other recruits struggled to keep their eyes forward and their stance controlled.

“Right here, right now.”

“What, in front of everyone?” he asked, breaking the bond of eye contact as he looked at his neighboring recruits.

“That’s the only way I do things.” She gave him a smile, but only with her mouth. She turned on her heels and walked for the door. He took a careful step forward before she stopped in front of the door.

“Manners.” She slammed the sliding door. “Maketh.” The lock engaged. “Man.” Her palm print locked the door to anyone but her. “Do you know what that means? Then let me teach you a lesson.”

Guinevere developed some of the most cutting edge technologies the spy world had to offer. She took James Bond and made it real. She put phones into shoes, bullets into umbrellas, and explosives into Zippo lighters.

But when all she had was a mundane clipboard, she could find a way to use that too. And she did. Right into the candidate’s head like a discus.

He stumbled backward into the recruit behind him, who managed to catch him and lower him to the ground. The clipboard bounced and skidded toward Harry’s feet. Guinevere approached the group again. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to tell their superior?” Her fisted clenched at her sides, muscles tightened like rubber bands ready to snap. The recruits stood as still as they could, holding their breath as she stared them down.

After a solid sixty seconds of silence, Guinevere’s figure returned to life. She went over to Harry, who picked up her clipboard and handed it back to her. “Thank you, Galahad.” She stood back in front of the group, stance just as demanding as before. “As I was saying…you will each find a body bag on your cot. You will write your name, on that bag. You will write your next of kin, on that bag. This represents your acknowledgement of the risks you’re about the face, as well as Kingsman’s confidentiality agreement, which if you break, will result in you and your next of kin being, _in that bag._ Is that understood?” A series of controlled nods rippled through the candidates. “Good. Fall out.”

When the left the candidates in their wake and headed back upstairs, Guinevere was largely silent, except for one phrase which she muttered through tight lips. “I’m going to take great pleasure in making them dance.”

* * *

 

Harry followed Guinevere up to her quarters, only because she never sent him away. She lived deep in the east wing of the house with many of the administrative offices and some of the temporary housing for agents from other branches of Kingsman. The door to her apartment had biometric security via her handprint and eye scan. Harry also had to have his hand print scanned after hers, a verification of his Kingsman affiliation.

Guinevere’s apartment had much more expansive than Harry thought it would be, holding not just a bedroom, but a lounge, a bathroom, and a kitchen as well. The lounge sported walls painted a rich shade of rose, and the majority of the furniture looked original to the house, but well maintained.

Guinevere set down her clipboard on the side table and immediately went over to the bar cart by her kitchen and opened a bottle of whiskey. “Would you like a drink?” She poured a second glass before Harry could answer and handed it to him without looking at him. She sipped her own whiskey and replaced the losses before she glided over to a record player in the corner. With a bit of tweaking, the song started to play as Harry walked over to the sofa.

“Queen?” he asked. “May I?” She nodded and the two sat down on the same sofa, her eyes forward.

“ _Killer Queen_ , to be specific. I hold it as a bit of a power ballad for myself.” She took a gulp and let out a sigh. “For rougher days like this.”

“I was frightened for that young man.”

“You should have been frightened for the lot of them. I was prepared to knock them all down, but I’d be sacked before the last one hit the floor.” She crossed her legs and held her arms close to her chest. “A gentleman must exercise restraint, and my patience had run out.”

Harry turned his body a few degrees toward her, but she still refused to look anywhere but the opposite wall. “Sounds like that lashing out was not just about his lack of tact.” Guinevere filled her lungs and let the breath out with a shudder.

“There is no way that you would understand what this job is like for someone like me.” Her leg began to shake and send vibrations through the sofa. “Kingsman has never had a woman on their roster, even though it’s 1983 and more women are working than ever before. They hire me, but try to cover up the fact whenever it is convenient. I don’t get the same liberties as you. Had you had the same outburst, the others may consider it reasonable. He disrespected your authority and needed to be put in place. For me, for a woman, I acted on pure emotion. I was too sensitive to his comments.”

 She stood up from her seat when her legs became too restless. “I often wonder about my job. I love what I do. I busted my arse through engineering school at Oxford and put up with the same _shit!_ ” Her brogue grew thicker with her anger. With her free hand, tore the pins out of her bun that kept her hair to her head. “Conceal, don’t feel. Lock it away. Be a man about it. I’m so fucking sorry for your sods, so wrapped up in your ideal of being a _gentleman_ that you have to forget out to be a fucking _person_.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and let it fall to her shoulders as she took another harsh gulp of whiskey. “God, Galahad, I’m sorry.”

“Please, this is not official. Call me Harry.”

“Nah, nah I don’t do that. I don’t even call Merlin by his first name anymore.” She raised the glass to her lips but before she took a drink she pointed at Harry. “That’s another thing! That is how I distance myself. I can’t get in deep, Galahad. You realize the only reason you have a job with Kingsman is because I failed to do mine?!”

Harry felt that he’d been punched in the chest. Truth be told, his entire training had been focused on him becoming Galahad, not filling a spot that had once been occupied. She bit the tip of her thumb, then switched to pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“I didn’t train your class of recruits because I couldn’t face that failure. I jumped into the only thing that I knew I could do right, my research. I needed to make technology that could honestly defend agents in the field when I failed them. That mission with the bomb in the Underground was my first mission as a handler since the incident. I’m lucky Arthur gave me that second chance. I don’t think I’ll have another.”

Harry set down his glass and stood up. Guinevere touched the inner corner of her eye to try and stem moisture before it got out of control. “You didn’t say anything. Tolerance will not bring about change.”

“Is tolerance what we’re going to call that little episode?” he asked, stopping just two feet from her. “I cannot say that I understand what you’re going through, you’re right about that. However, you are just as much of a gentleman as the rest of us. Now, I believe that you can handle yourself. That said, you should not hesitate to ask for me to step in if you need someone else to drive your point.”

Guinevere looked him in the eyes for the first time. She grabbed his gaze and without breaking, took a gulp from her whiskey to finish the glass. “Only if you promise to call on me, next time you need someone to drive yours. Your aim could use some work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done! I'm kind of riding by the seat of my pants with this, but I'm resigned myself to writing what I enjoy.  
> Also, I hate reusing scenes from the canon because it seems unoriginal, but I was feeling this.  
> Comments and kudos are adored! Thank you for sticking with me!


	5. Touch the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to become Guinevere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for the delay. I got stuck.  
> Anyway, here is the next chapter, a bit about Guinevere's history. I was inspired by the song "Touch the Sky" by Julie Fowlis on the Brave soundtrack.  
> Other songs from the soundtrack that played part in this chapter were "The Games", and "I am Merida."
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Elaine Hamilton had not been so nervous in a long time. She held the envelope in her nearly trembling hands, staring down at her own name and address. _Just open it. Come on, Elaine just open it!_ And yet she couldn’t get her fingers to move. The one who was always composed was suddenly deteriorating over a piece of paper.

A knock came to the door and she dove to her bed and hid the envelope under the pillow. “Come in!” she called when she situated herself with a book as if she hadn’t been in a state of intense agitation just moments before. Always a master of appearances.

Cecelia, the house maid walked in with a basket of laundry and Elaine let out a sigh of relief. “Have you opened it yet,” she asked, setting the basket down next to the closet and chest of drawers.

“No,” she said, pulling the letter out once more. Cecelia was the only one that knew about the letter. Not even her brother knew about it, and they were thick as thieves.

“Come on Elaine, the worst it can say is ‘no’.”

“Yes well, it’s amazing what kind of power those two letters can have.” After a minute more of anticipation, she went over to her desk and dug out her letter opener, slicing the envelope open with one swift, practiced movement, and she felt like she’d sliced into her own heart. She slipped the paper out and held it in her hands, still not unfolding it. Cecelia’s attention turned from the laundry, to Elaine. She’d never seen her so nervous. Elaine was always expected to impress, but this was ruining her.

“Do you want me to open it?”

“No!” she snapped. She took a breath to compose herself. “I can do this.” Finally, her fingers unfolded the letter, and she looked down at the words.

The air left her body.

She fell back onto her bed and covered her mouth.

Cecelia rushed to her side. Elaine clutched the letter in her hands and breathed out four words.

“I’m going to Oxford.”

* * *

 

Elaine would have been surprised that she made it the three months between receiving her letter and the day that she needed to leave without having her secret spilled if she wasn’t so trusting of Cecelia’s ability to keep her mouth shut. But now was the hardest part, keeping quiet as she left her home for what could be forever. Divorcing from her life of being a lady to be with her engineering mistress. It was harder than she originally believed, because she so loved her life.

She had packed her bags and snuck them into her car one by one over the course of several days to try and avoid the most suspicion. She would leave early in the morning, as if she were just going into Edinburgh. She’d call her parents once she arrived and would tell them everything so they didn’t send out a search party for her.

She sat on her bed in her room that looked bare to her own eyes. She donned the only day outfit she had not packed, a floral skirt just past her knees, simple white shirt, and a brimmed hat, and stared at herself in the mirror. _Today you become your own woman. You’ve always been your own, but this is so much more._ Cecelia knocked and entered upon Elaine’s call. She shut the door behind her and Elaine could tell that she was emotional behind her façade. The two girls embraced each other and Elaine fought to keep from crying. She couldn’t give herself away at the last minute.

“You’re going to be wonderful, Elaine,” she said, sniffling.

“Come visit me, Cece, if you can ever get away. I feel that your company will be the hardest to leave. I’d say the same of Douglas but I’m sure he’ll end up at Cambridge or Oxford in the next years.” Cecelia laughed and stepped back from the hug.

“Is there anything else?” Elaine looked around her room and then down at the list in her purse, which had everything crossed out.

“I don’t believe so.” She smiled at her dearest friend and reached down to squeeze her hands and peck her on the cheek. “Thank you so much for helping me with this.”

“Thank you for allowing me to be part of it. It was very exciting! Like being a spy.” Elaine chuckled herself, and strapped her purse over her shoulder.

“It has been exciting, hasn’t it?” She looked up at the clock and knew that it would be time to leave. Her parents would be having their breakfast and getting changed for the day. “I need to go, Cece. Stay well.” She gave the girl a final smile and avoided one last look at her bedroom, in fear that she would miss it too much to leave.

She headed down the stairs more quietly than normal, no sign of her parents or even Douglas, but he was probably still asleep. She snuck out to the garage and took the cover off of her 1962 Aston Martin. She unlocked the trunk and saw all of her necessary belongings still present and packed. She opened the main doors to the garage, shifted her car into neutral, and pushed it out silently.

She turned to shut the carriage house doors behind her when she heard what she had so dreaded. “Elaine, where are you going?” Her mother stood on the front steps of the house, still in her dressing gown and her hair down over her shoulders. Elaine felt as if she’d been shot in the back. _You’re going into town!_ Her brain screamed at her. _INTO TOWN!_

She walked toward her mother, a long, torturous walk as if in defeat. Her mother had done her no wrong, she didn’t deserve all this secrecy. But Elaine knew that her parents wouldn’t support her going away to Oxford, especially for engineering. She’d always been their good girl, excelling in her lessons, saying all the right things at parties, and possessing impeccable manners. She was not raised to work with her hands and do a man’s work, even if it was 1975.

When she was only a meter from her mother, the defeat turned into defiance. She stood her ground, locked her eyes on her mother’s, and declared:

“I’m going to Oxford!”

* * *

 

Her mother had not been thrilled. Not at all.

Elaine, after making her statement of rebellion, turned on her heels and ran like the dickens back to the car, losing her hat in the process. Her mother called after her, her light Edinburgh accent giving way to the rough sound of the Highlands where she had been raised in her frustration. Elaine hopped into the car, and while she only had a fifty percent success rate of getting her clutch to catch the first time, she tore down the dirt drive at a fiery speed.

Her heart slowed down a handful of kilometers after she passed the gates of her estate. Once the adrenaline of her escape wore off the tears came to her eyes. She tried to swallow them down. She needed to focus on her driving, but her vision remained blurry. She pulled over to get herself put together and to find her bearings on the map she had already marked in red. It would take most of the daylight to get to the school, but she did not plan on stopping frequently. After five minutes of planning and stemming of tears, she was on the road once more. She turned on the radio and the middle of _Free Bird_ by Lynyrd Skynyrd filled the speakers.

 

_But if I stayed here with you, girl_

_Things just couldn’t be the same._

_‘Cause I’m as free as a bird, now,_

_And this bird you cannot change._

              The guitar solo swelled up and she found herself in raptures over the music she had never been able to listen to before. The notes drove her faster down the road through the Scottish countryside. She felt powerful, like she could conquer the world. _And that I will. Because I am free._ She smiled to herself and watched the scenery zip by.

* * *

 

Elaine buried herself in her work. She dived head-first into a man’s world, the only woman in her class, and worked every day to prove a point to herself and to everyone else. While the boys played sports between classes and went out to the pubs several times a week, she stayed back and poured over her physics and calculus.

One day, her roommate Lizzy a girl from London who studied English Literature, came back after class and announced loudly that there was going to be a football game on the green and that they needed one more player.

“I’ve never played football,” Elaine explained, plugging in more numbers into her calculator.

“Neither have most of us, even the guys. But isn’t that was university is for?” Elaine looked up at Lizzy, who looked desperate to get her serious roommate out of the dormitory.

“Fine. Just let me finish up this equation. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

Despite her seemingly indifferent tone, Elaine was elated to be invited into something. She had not bothered to make many acquaintances since coming to school and to be honest, she and Lizzy talked very infrequently. She rushed to finish her work, but still double checked to make sure that her entire calculation was correct before she changed into more suitable clothing and headed to the commons.

There were markedly fewer girls on the field than boys, which didn’t surprise Elaine in the slightest. The two boys who proclaimed to have played football before (most likely in their backyards or on the pitch on their failed tryouts) declared themselves captain and chose their teams playground style. Elaine was proud to not be picked last, but she was certainly not first.

It felt good to run. It reminded her of when she was younger with Douglas. Sure, her agility was left much to be desired, but she had always been fast. She kicked the ball away from the opposing team, and sometimes her own teammates.

Within twenty minutes she had a red card for rough play.

* * *

 

Elaine continued to practice football on her own and with others throughout the semesters as a way to relieve stress from her studies. When the weather was inclement, she took apart everything from alarm clocks to radios and even an old television set. To challenge herself, she put them back together. By the time she was a junior, she was designing her own gadgets and using spare parts to make her own machines, like a toaster with a speaker for listening to music while she made breakfast.

She and Lizzy rented a flat just off campus after their first year.  Elaine found herself assembling most of the furniture while Lizzy took more time decorating with what little money they had left, but in the end, the flat felt like a bit of home between her multitude of contraptions and a friend who didn’t mind all of her studying. She had to tolerate Lizzy’s boyfriend, who practically lived in the flat some weeks, but in turn, Lizzy sometimes reminded Elaine to eat when time melted into the pages of her books.

When spring came and the sun graced the campus with light, pick-up football games began once more. Elaine had improved over the years, though her methods could still be classified as aggressive at times. It had earned her an unsavory nickname.

“Oi, Bloody Mary, Queen of Scots!” one of the other engineering boys called toward her in a horribly exaggerated Scottish accent as they approached the commons..

“Lads, if only yer peckers were as strong as yer Scottish.” Her mother would have left her without dinner for saying such a phrase but now it was so commonplace that she would have starved. The boy approached her and she matched his steps.

“Quite a mouth you’ve got there,” he said, resorting back to his usual posh English. “What else can you do with it?” He smirked and raised a brow. His group of friends raised their voice in a chorus of “ooohs.”

“Let’s leave the ball play on the field, shall we?” She reached around and grabbed the bag he was holding. “The only endorphins you’ll get from me are those you’ll get from chasing me. After all, that’s the way I do things. Now can we get this game started? I’ve got a test to smash you on.”

* * *

 After school, Elaine decided that she couldn’t go back to Edinburgh. She and her mother still had not made up after four years, and Elaine was too deep down her path to turn back, so she decided to move with Lizzy to London. She took a job at a tailor, finding it nearly impossible to find engineering work right out of school, even though her male classmates seemed to have no problems. Some of them even went abroad to America. She felt that she should have expected that challenge, but she still kept on looking as she received phone calls and inquiries at Kingsman tailors.

The tailor reminded her of home, except that she had switched places with Cecelia and now waited on more posh versions of her own father. Even the shop seemed to have as many secrets as the manor home she grew up in. All of the men wandering around were very hush-hush. Even the owner, Chester King, seemed to be wary around her. It didn’t take her very long to figure out why.

She was cleaning up a fitting room at the end of the day, shining the mirror and polishing the crown molding. She grew warm and hung up her jacket on one of the hooks and she heard what she thought was a lock disengage. She looked at the door behind her, which was already cracked open, and then turned back toward her jacket. With an immense amount of cautiousness, she pressed her fingertips to the wall and gave a push. What she saw, was a room filled with guns.

“Oh shit!” she shouted before covering her own mouth. _Shit, I’m working for the mafia._ The idea, while terrifying, strangely excited her. She picked her jacket off the hook and closed the door behind her as quietly as she could and she walked around the room, which was strangely cozy like the rest of the shop, despite the wall décor. The further she walked in, the more she saw that there was more than guns. There were bags, pens, radios, and cigarette cases. Half of them probably had the capability to explode. She realized that the mafia probably wouldn’t be able to have half of these gadgets. _Fuck…this is MI6._

She heard the door click behind her and she immediately spun around with her hands up, expecting to see dozens of guns pointed at her head. Instead, she only saw Mr. King, hands empty. “I haven’t touched anything, I swear,” she quickly defended. “I don’t know who you are or what this is, but I won’t tell a soul.” Her hands were shaking but the rest of her body was tense as he approached her. “I can make you more of this, if you’d like. Anything.” _What the hell are you talking about?_ But it stopped him.

“Miss Hamilton, put your hands down.” She obliged but still stayed on guard, ready to strike if needed.

“Is this an undercover of MI6?”

“No. This goes much deeper than that.” He went over to the wall and grabbed a pistol. She took a step back. He held it out, handle first. “Take it.”

Elaine had never held a gun before. Her father had his hunting rifles under lock and key. She felt the grip on her palm and held tight, scared that if she dropped it, the pistol would fire. She didn’t even know if it was loaded.

“Do you know what that is?” Mr. King asked.

“It’s a handgun, sir.”

“That is a Walther PPK. Standard issue pistol for our organization. I want you to improve upon it in a manner of your choosing and get it back to me.” The look on his face said that he wasn’t going to answer her questions. She stood completely still until he formally said “You’re dismissed.” She composed herself and left the shop without another word.

_Just got a pistol in my bag from my boss. No matter._

A month later she met Mr. King in the dining room, pistol in hand. “I’ve added a shotgun, for close ranges. I wanted to add a finger print scanner so only a particular person could use it but I wanted to be sure to get you something after it took me longer than expect. I’ve not worked with a pistol before.” Truth be told, she just wanted it out of her flat. She hated feeling paranoid that Lizzy would find it because she couldn’t even explain the situation to herself, let alone her roommate.

The next day, Mr. King approached Elaine as she was filing orders from the day. She immediately stood when he entered the room. “Your pistol was fully functional, and your ideas for future improvements impressed me and our small staff of engineers. I’d like to offer you an opportunity to expand your skills in engineering and beyond.”

She couldn’t help but feel that saying the words left a bad taste in his mouth, but they were still being said. “There are more tests to be done, of course, but in the end, if you prove yourself, it will be all worth your while. Interested?”

Elaine looked down at her paperwork, full of fitting information and demographics and history. He was offering her a position in engineering, as far as she knew. She could get away from this secretarial work and do what she was trained to do, what she loved to do. But the amount of secrecy that shrouded it all made her uneasy.

But she’d already made enough questionable decisions in her life. “Do you think I have anything to lose?”

 


	6. Cutting it Close

Harry was never one to be able to sleep upright, and he was learning very quickly that in this line of work, that would quickly lead to a sort of insanity.

Try as he might, while he could rest his eyes, he could never fall into a slumber while he sat on the plane from the Netherlands back to the UK. It was not a long flight, but he had been awake for over 24 hours by that point subduing a threat that involved suicide bombs and a Peace Summit.

Defeated, Harry got up from his seat and walked up to the cockpit, where sat his best friend, sipping at a cooling cup of coffee as the plane flew on autopilot, English channel below, an expanse of galaxy above. “We should be back at HQ by 0300,” Merlin updated. He held out his mug of coffee to Harry, which he politely waved away.

“I’d rather the caffeine be with the man at the controls.” He finished his statement with a yawn.

“Aw mate, don’t do that.” But it was too late. The captain yawned and shook his head to try to wake himself up.

Harry reached over and gently slapped Merlin’s face. “Does this not bring you back to all the over-nights you spent working on your programming?”

“Except then I had something to do. Now, thanks to programming, I just need to be focused enough to keep flying in a straight line.”

“You say that as if it is easy.”

“You say that as if it’s difficult.” Merlin took another gulp of coffee and then pointed out the window as the water gave way to the damp land of the Isles.

The radio crackled to life after hours of silence. << _Welcome back to England, gentleman_ >> Guinevere greeted, her voice low with fatigue. << _Galahad, you and I shall debrief in the morning, 1100_ >>

“Of course. How is your evening, Guinevere?” He heard a tired laugh on the other end and he felt his heart stop for a moment.

<< _Just wonderful. I did a bit of tinkering while you were gone. You’ll see, or perhaps, ideally, you won’t_ >> Harry raised a brow, though she could not see it.

“Aircraft Delta 267 Foxtrot Victor requesting permission to land,” Merlin interrupted. Harry saw Kingsman’s aircraft hangar come into view, hidden under a hill at the end of the runway.

<< _Permission granted. See you on the ground_ >> Harry reached over his shoulders to buckle himself in. He felt the pressure on his chest as the plane decelerated and descended upon the runway with limited lighting. The engines _whirred_ and the craft landed with a thud, the sudden friction doing the final job to help the plane stop.

Merlin surrendered control when the plane came to a complete stop, and he and Harry disembarked to find Guinevere waiting for them, hair thrown up haphazardly into a bun and clothes wrinkled from a long day’s wear.

“Ready for bed?” she asked with a smile. Merlin waved her away and walked past her, but Harry stayed behind and matched pace with her as they walked toward the car for the hour long drive back to the estate.

“New glasses?” he observed as they made their way through the hanger. Instinctively, she reached up and adjusted them. Now much less like Merlin’s, they boasted a sort of cat-eye design that were more proportional to her face. “They look nice on you.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to have a prescription that really fits.” She looked toward Harry and squinted. “But unfortunately for you, I now notice that you are a less than adept at shaving. Do you use a straight razor? Please don’t tell me you use disposables.” When Harry remained silent, she rolled her eyes. “Alright, tomorrow, I’m teaching you how to really shave.”

“Learning how to shave my face from someone who has never woken up with a scratchy face? Seems a bit ridiculous to me. I shave adequately.” Guinevere reached over rubbed the back of her knuckles on his cheek and Harry swallowed hard.

“Adequately, maybe, which may have passed in university. Unfortunately, now you’re a Kingsman and there are certain standards to be adhered to, so tomorrow, I’m going to teach you how to properly shave.”

They reached the car and Harry saw that by the time they arrived, Merlin had already claimed the entire back seat and was lying curled up already falling asleep. “And he flew the plane,” Harry told her as he walked to the passenger side of the Mercedes.

“The great thing about Merlin is that he is always able to finish the job, but can accomplish very little once his objective is reached.” They got in and Guinevere started the ignition, but when she went to shift into first, she stalled and jerked the car, and Merlin, awake. “Sorry, dear.” With another try, she got the clutch to catch, and they started down the drive through the darkened country.

* * *

 

Harry arrived at Guinevere’s quarters five after eleven. He pressed his finger hand to the scanner, followed by his eye. A few moments later he heard the lock disengage followed by a recording Guinevere’s voice inviting him in.

The apartment smelled of breakfast. The juicy aroma of ham and eggs caused him to remember his hunger while the kettle whistled on the stove. He could hear movement in the kitchen, pans moving and utensils scraping against each other. “I hope you’re hungry!” she called out.

Harry walked through the living space filled with the sounds of _Journey_ , down the short hallway to the kitchen where Guinevere worked, already made up and dressed in a button down blouse and trousers covered with an apron. She juggled between eggs and meat, plating and finishing as timers went off. It was the first time Harry had seen her look even close to frazzled, but despite how much movement was occurring, she looked to have everything under control.

“I’ll let you fetch your own drink, for being late.” She took the plates into the living space. Harry poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle, added two spoons of sugar, and joined her.

“We could have stayed in our pyjamas, if it was going to be this informal of a debriefing.” He took the armchair across from her.

Guinevere sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “I had to keep some amount of propriety. And don’t think that I’ve forgotten about our lesson.” Harry scratched at his face. He hadn’t shaved at all since the previous morning. Guinevere smiled at him and took a forkful of ham and eggs before she turned her attention to her folio of notes. “Now then…”

* * *

 

Harry sat on Guinevere’s bathroom counter and Merlin soon in front of him, arms crossed, with a smile on his face. “It’s been nice knowing you Harry.”

“Oi, remember who taught you how to shave your face?” Guinevere scolded as she set up the supplies on the bathroom counter. “Get out, I’ll give this all back later.” Harry could see Merlin hold back an eye roll as he left the room. “GET YOUR GLASSES OFF MY DESK.” She called out to him as he closed the front door. She shook her head and went back to dunking a towel in hot water.

“Pray I ask, why did you acquire this skill in the first place?” Harry eyed the razor as Guinevere sharpened it against a rough belt.

“Our father believed that the house help was for the help of the house, not our personal grooming, aside from my mother and I having our hair done occasionally,” she began as she detached the belt, content in her sharpening. “When his Parkinson’s disallowed him from shaving with safety, he needed someone to help him. My mother and the maid Cecelia did not feel comfortable with the task, and Merlin here was only about 6 years old. I was 10 and a daddy’s girl, so he taught me.”

She turned her full attention back to Harry. “I hope you take more than shaving away from this.”

“How do you mean?” inquired Harry.

“I mean, I hope that you don’t see shaving as a chore so much as therapeutic part of a daily routine. I’d compare it to putting on my makeup in the morning. Yes, it’s something that I do, and sometimes feel obligated to do, but I also see it as a time to get in tune with myself and become fully present for the day ahead.”

She held up a bottle that Harry didn’t recognize. “I take it you only use cream right now, yes?” Harry nodded. “This is pre-shave oil. It makes your skin suppler and you’re less likely to nick yourself.” She poured some onto her fingertips and started to massage the oil into Harry’s cheeks and across his chin. As her hands worked and slid over his stubble, he imagined her fingers working tediously on a new project, typing away frantically, or wrapping around someone’s throat.

“Once you have that adequately covering your follicles, put a hot towel over your face to open up your pores.” She wrung out the soaked towel and lay it over his chin before folding it up to cover the rest of Harry’s face. The warmth loosened Harry’s muscles from his shoulders down and he felt as if the steam filled up him. He felt enveloped by comfort and ease. “How does that feel?”

“It feels amazing,” he said through the towel. He felt like he could hear her smile as she moved her hands to the sides of his face. “How long do you keep this on?”

“About a minute. Just let the heat do its work, and your skin can do the breathing. Inhale and fill yourself with warmth.” Her voice slowed and each syllable became intentional and pronounced. He felt as if he could fall asleep in her care. When the time passed and she took the towel away, Harry felt the air cool his face quickly through his open pores. He blinked until Guinevere came into focus once more.

She held a small bowl of lather in front of him, and with a few swipes of her thumb, smeared it across his cheeks and chin. It was so quiet that Harry could hear her slow breathing in and out as she seemed to study his face with her eyes and her hands. He closed his eyes in relaxation, but after a moment too long, she was snapping her fingers in his face. “Ah ah! You need to stay awake! I’m not going to do this for you every day.”

“Can’t you?” It slipped out of his mouth before he could stem the flow. She took a step back but looked directly into his eyes.

“I wish I could.” There was a beat of silence. “I’m here to foster independence.” She turned to take the lather brush, and she ran it under the sink. “But maybe if you keep improving, I’ll treat you once in a while.” She gave him a playful, red smile, and Harry swore he saw a wink, but she turned her head too quickly to be completely sure.

She started to lather up the lower half of his face until it became the consistency of a thick whipped topping. When each hair was sufficiently coated, she picked up the razor and secured it in her grip. “I keep it secure between my thumb and index, and then between my ring and pinky finger, but it all depends on what part of the face you’re working on. Are you ready?”

“What was it you said when I was worried about you disarming the bomb? _Trust me?_ ” Guinevere laughed brightly and used her thumb to stretch Harry’s cheek upward as she scraped the blade downward with the grain.

“Use as much of the blade as you can in these larger areas, holding it at about 30 degrees.” She made it to his lower jaw before Harry realized he’d been holding his breath. “Oi, what kind of trust is that?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just used to being in control I suppose.”

“Dear, you’re going to need to learn that I call the shots around here. Have you not picked up on that yet?” She rinsed off the blade and looked Harry straight in the eyes, and he took a deep breath in. “Shall I continue?” He nodded in the affirmative. She continued along his cheeks and his jaw, using as much care as a sculptor with marble.

Harry observed her as she worked, and from the look in her eyes, she was completely within her work. Her pupils widened to take it in, and he felt that he was no longer there as a person, but as a project. _Gwen specializes in being a workaholic._ He felt that she could have worked for hours and not noticed the passing of time.

Her blade tickled his upper lip and under his neck, but with each stroke he felt cleaner and neater. He logged the sensations for later when he would undoubtedly try the exercise himself. Her fingertips supported him and explored his jaw and he fought so hard to breathe regularly. In internal battle raged inside him between wanting it all to stop, and hoping that hair would immediately grow back so the shave would never end.

But it did end, and when it did, Guinevere drew back with a deep breath and a satisfied smile. She took a dry towel and swept away the extra lather. “How do you feel?” she asked as she drew back.

Harry ran his hands over his cheeks and hopped off the counter to inspect himself in the mirror. “I’ll say, I never expected to look this good when you finished.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” she intertwined her fingers and rested them, and her chin, on Harry’s left shoulder. “You look like half a gentleman, now. We’ll have to see if you can repeat it on yourself.”

“What are you going to teach me next?” Harry asked, looking at the two of them in the mirror.

Guinevere shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. Now go, I have work to do.” She lifted her head and gave Harry a pat on the back. He stood up straight and with confident strides, left her quarters and headed down the hall with a spring in his step.

* * *

 

Guinevere cleaned out Merlin’s lather cup and brushes when his voice came through her ear. << _Goodness me, get a room_ >>

“You’re a pikey shit, Merlin,” she said, laughing at him as she looked toward her mirror. “But you got all of that?”

<< _I got most of the words and all of the visual and I’m uncomfortable_ >> Guinevere adjusted her glasses. << _These are amazing, Gwen. Much better than your prototype. All the agents definitely need these. And I need to wash my eyes out with bleach_ >>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read another chapter!  
> Updates will be slow due to some writer's block and the fact that I need to become Elaine and throw myself into my studies.


	7. Dressed to the Nine[Millimeter]s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Guinevere accompany each other on a mission to disrupt a highly dangerous man.

Between the numerous missions abroad and the candidate training sessions that filled in the caps, Harry felt that he was rapidly becoming more Galahad and less Harry Hart. Not that he was losing his former self, but growing from it like a tree from a seed. Merlin commented on a newly developed swagger in his step, and a hint more confidence and sureness in his voice.

Which was great, because the jobs he was assigned required a high degree of accuracy and certainty. Drug lords, undercover American spy rings, assassins, all part of his hit list, but when his new assignment grace his presence in the briefing room, a tinge of fear pricked at his heart.

“An  _illegal arms dealer?_ ” he probed in disbelief.

“Fear not, Galahad. You will not be alone in this.”

As if on cue, a knock. “Come in,” Arthur greeted.

“Sorry for the delay, Arthur.” Guinevere took her place at the table, Merlin following close behind.

“How are the candidates progressing?” questioned Arthur.

“One missed the target on our parachute test, bringing our total down to three candidates. Kingsman will have their new knight within a fortnight.” Arthur nodded in approval. Harry knew the final test would be the dog test, and he remembered that he needed to feed Mr. Pickle.

“I was just briefing Galahad on your next mission.”

“Ah yes, our arms dealer.” She opened her leather pad and produced her own folder of information.  _Wait…_ our?

Harry must have made an expression of confusion in Arthur’s direction, because he immediately clarified. “Guinevere will be accompanying you to Berlin, while Merlin will be your handler.” Harry looked at Guinevere, about to protest, but his face softened when he read her body language. Though she always seemed to exude a sort of grace and confidence, there was so much now that Harry couldn’t help but feel both secure and frightened in her presence. She sat up taller. Her mouth curled into the mildest resemblance of a smirk, and her eyes nearly glistened with excitement.

He suddenly felt only centimeters tall.

“Guinevere will be serving as an escort for our target, Peter Kaufmann, at a gala in Berlin. Her task is to prevent the exchange at the source. The problem arises in that we don’t know who his intended contact is, which is where you come in, Galahad. That, an extra aide for Guinevere should her situation get out of hand.”

“As I will serve for him, as well,” she added, turning her head toward Arthur, lips tight. He nodded without breaking eye contact with her in a sort of standoff.

Merlin cleared his throat to break the silence. “The two of you will be outfitted with bulletproof garments, a tuxedo and an evening gown. Harry will also have a pair of glasses, a signet ring, and a grenade lighter.

“Guinevere’s equipment will be mostly chemical in nature, apart from her earrings with a tracker and small recording devices in the stones. She will also have cigarettes, perfume, and her special lipstick. Unfortunately, we will have no visual from her end due to the fact that we haven’t expanded our technology to contact lenses.”

When neither of them opened their mouths, Arthur continued. “Your success on this mission is imperative to keep this Cold War from heating up. You will be off to Berlin in one week. You’re dismissed.”

* * *

 

Harry hardly saw Guinevere between the debriefing and the gala. They were put on separate commercial planes that arrived in Berlin hours apart. Though they were in the same hotel for some amount of security, they were separated by 5 floors. The only communication between the two was relayed through Merlin back in the UK.

 _< <Your car will be at the hotel in one hour>>_ Merlin informed Harry through his glasses as he unzipped the garment bag that held his tuxedo.

“Thank you, Merlin.” He retreated into the bathroom of the suite, where he unpacked a wooden box filled with brand new shaving supplies that he'd bought shortly after his lesson.

 _< <Very nice>>_ Harry smiled to himself and set the oils, lather, and brush out on the counter.  _< <You looking to play James Bond, are you?>>_

“I’ve not been to a gala, might as well look the part.” He mixed his later in the bowl. “Anything else is a bonus.”

 _< <You’re telling me. I’ll remind you to take the glasses off and leave your tie on the doorknob>> _Harry chuckled and slipped the glasses from his face, effectively muting Merlin from his ears. He took one of the hotel hand towels and left it in the sink to soak in hot water as he massaged the oil onto his face. He closed his eyes and his mind slipped back to the day in Guinevere’s powder room. The feeling of the soft pads of her fingers against his stubbled cheek. The breathy sound of her soft accent filling the air around him as she walked him through the steps, just as she did on his missions. He hadn’t felt so comfortable in so long, and he yearned for the feeling to return.

 _You stop that,_ he scolded himself as he wrapped the towel around his face. He breathed against the steam and the terra-cloth.  _Those thoughts aren’t fair to either of you._ When he felt that his pores were adequately open, he put the cloth to the side and let it run under the water again as he lathered up his jawline and broke out the razor, balancing the handle between his fingers.

 _Don’t hold your breath. What kind of trust is that?_ Harry swallowed and pressed the stainless steel to his cheek.  _Think, but not too much._ The razor was so sharp he hardly felt it as it shaved away his hair. Hopefully he’d feel it if he scraped his chin clean off.  _Are you a Kingsman or a schoolboy?_  He locked his eyes on his reflection and continued to stroke against his cheek. When he was finished, he wiped away the remaining lather with a dry towel, and just for relaxation’s sake, buried his face in the warm towel once more.

* * *

 

 _< <Guinevere will be arriving in about ten minutes. Might as well get a drink while you wait, keep your eyes open>> _Merlin informed as Harry walked up to the venue. Harry gave a subtle nod to himself and descended down the main staircase where a couple hundred people were already mingling. He did a slow lap around the perimeter of the space. He felt more suave than ever before in his life. He held his head high as she strode across the floor in his full tuxedo that made him feel taller. His confidence told him that everyone in the room was looking at him.

And then he remembered he was supposed to be blending in.

An attendant approached him. “Kann ich Ihnen ein Getränk?”

“Martini, Gin. Zehn Sekunden lang gerührt, während mit einem Blick auf eine ungeöffnete Flasche Vermouth.” The attendant smiled, and walked away while Harry leaned against the nearby pillar. He looked toward the small orchestra that played to his 8 o’clock, all of the musicians looking either painfully bored or deeply into the music under their fingers.

 _< <Guinevere is pulling up the drive with the target>> _Harry continued to look around the room of gowns and tuxedos for a possible contact, but he had no idea who to even begin looking for. He hoped that he could get Guinevere away from the target for her to supply some sort of a lead, but he could not rely on that possibility.

The attendant returned with his martini. “Danke schӧn.” He sipped at the drink, beautifully balanced in taste, and started to walk further toward the back of the room. He was thankful that there were others who were alone, and from some of the eye contact he made with some of the ladies in the room, he had a feeling that he could easily get company if desired.

 _< <Guinevere and target are in the building>>_ His thoughts were interrupted and he hoped that it didn’t reflect in his expression. But it wasn’t Merlin he should have been worrying about when it came to being distracted as he looked to the top of the stairs.

Harry had heard the term “power couple” in the past, but never before had he seen a pair quite worthy of the title. Kaufmann was a broad, strong looking Aryan, with the stern expression of a Nazi general. On his arm, Guinevere, looking commanding as her partner. He’d never seen what her figure consisted of, but her black satin gown left little to his imagination. Her blonde hair tumbled down behind her in soft, glossy waves to just past her strong shoulders that tapered into a slim waist and soft hips. Her gloved arms were toned, Harry feeling that she could easily topple the sturdy man in the crook of her elbow. . And of course, her makeup consisting of grey eye shadow and bright red lipstick made her look at she could kill a man.

“Scheiße.”

What Merlin followed with made his galloping heart stop.

_< <Shit…that’s not her dress>>_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short update. Keeping on with my studies. Comments and kudos are adored!
> 
> Also, as for the translations. I am mediocre at German and it is all done in google. Apologies. Longer conversations in the future will not be translated.


	8. May I Have This Death?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! After a very short chapter, now a chapter the length of a usual one-shot for me
> 
> Every conversation that does not include directly speaking to Merlin happens in a foreign language. Harry speaks German to Kaufmann and French with Guinevere. Guinevere speaks French to Kaufmann.

Harry turned away from Guinevere immediately and made a straight line to a deserted area of the floor. “What do you mean that’s not her dress?”

 _< <Does that look even _remotely _bulletproof?! >> _Harry glanced back and saw Guinevere looking toward him as Kaufmann pulled her in the other direction toward the bar. _< <I need you to talk to her. Approach Kaufmann, strike up conversation. He does not speak French at all. Perhaps offer to be a translator for him and Gwen>> _Harry started to approach the two once more, with additional purpose. He saw Kaufmann hand her a glass of champagne, which she responded to in thanks, but once he turned his attention from her once more, he could see her lips tighten and her eyebrows raise as she took a sip of her drink.

It took all of his strength to seemingly ignore Guinevere as he reached out for Kaufmann. “Herr Kaufmann. You look just like your father,” Harry greeted in German. “My father fought alongside him in the Argonne. It’s an honor to meet you.” Kaufmann gave him a nod of agreement, though he showed no pleasure, and Harry was positive that he was sizing him up. “My name is Schneider.”

“Pleasure.” His voice was guarded and stern.

“And who, may I ask, is this lovely frau on your arm?” Guinevere offered her hand to him, which Harry took with great care before he planted a gentle kiss upon the back of it.

She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but Kaufmann interrupted. “She is no one to concern yourself with. She does not even speak German. She is beautiful, but stupid, which will make her very good for later on, you see.” Harry looked between the proud smirk that had carved itself onto his stone face, Guinevere, whose delayed smile reflected years of etiquette lessons and rehearsed dinner party reactions.

“Ah yes. I should have found a partner myself for tonight, but I am here strictly for business.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.” Kaufmann was loosening up to him much faster than he had anticipated and he took a sip of his martini to match. “May I ask your business?”

“Property, mostly. Family business. Fallen on hard times so I need to search wherever I can. And you?” Too much? Too fast? Another nervous sip. Harry did not want to risk leaving the night in a body bag, but at least he’d already begun digging his grave.

“Military sales. Also, not what it used to be.”

“Well, if you ever need a place to build a base or a hanger, give me a call.” The laugh that came out of Kaufmann’s mouth was like clearing dust from an artifact. Guinevere looked toward him and taking his cue, engaged in a polite, almost silent laugh.

“I’m actually waiting for my buyer, but I have yet to spot him.”

“In that case, would you mind if I had a dance with your partner, so you can focus on your ventures?” Kaufmann turned his head toward Guinevere, who was suddenly very intrigued by her champagne, and with a gesture of his mammoth hand, gave Harry his permission. The dance partners set their drinks on the bar, and Harry offered Guinevere his hand.

“Je m’appelle Colette.” The simple phrase turned Harry for a loop when he finally turned to face her on the dance floor. Any trace of her Edinburgh accent had been erased, and replaced with the French of someone raised on the language. “He is stupid. He does not even speak French.” She laughed at the end of her statement and Harry saw a real smile that filled her face and creased her eyes.

“Comment allez-vouz, Colette?” Harry returned as the orchestra struck up another waltz. He placed a hand on Guinevere’s shoulder and waist, recalling the lessons she’d helped him brush up on the last few days.

“Froid.” Harry chuckled and couldn’t help giving her a once over. He could feel the heat of her through the slick satin, but her bare shoulders remained cool. “Et…comment allez-vouz _, monsieur Schneider?”_ she asked, as if joking with him. “Is that a Beretta 92 in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

 “Both. But let’s keep that between you and I, shall we, mademoiselle?” Harry asked in a low, gruff tone, instinctively pulling her closer to his chest.

 _< <Can’t understand a word but Christ, keep focused>> _Harry smiled to himself and gave Guinevere a twirl before bringing her back to him.

“So, do you know who he is looking for? Are you his extra eyes?”

“He is a very private man. I’m very surprised that he opened up so much to you, but then again, you’re very charming. I don’t know much German, but I believe I heard the name _Igor Sokolov_ dropped while he was on the phone at the dress shop.” She made sure to say the name close to Harry’s ear to be picked up by the microphone in the arm of the glasses. He shuttered at the proximity and the sudden interruption of the French that they’d been exchanging.

_< <Searching now>>_

“And he may have said that they were looking to meet at 2300 hours”

Harry could feel that the waltz was going to end soon.

“In the carriage house.”

The song swelled to a climax. Harry lifted Guinevere into the air and let her float back down.

“To exchange thousands of Euro in small artillery, and discuss even bigger proposals”

The orchestra hit a final note, Harry turned Guinevere into a deep dip, and their eyes fixed on each other.

“But that’s all I can wager, _monsieur_.”

Her words floated away with the music. Harry brought to Guinevere back to her feet, bowed to her, and kissed her hand once more in one swift motion. “Merci, for the lovely dance, mademoiselle Colette.”

“The pleasure is all mine, _Schneider_.” She glanced toward the bar and saw Kaufmann nursing his drink.

Harry looked down at his watch, 9:49.

“Sorry, mon Cher, but I seem to have some business to take care of.”

“I understand. Perhaps we will meet again? I’m staying at the Hotel Aldon.” She let her hand rest on Harry’s bicep and slid it down his arm until it cupped his palm. Harry tried not to let the gesture get to him. _This is a persona. She is not Guinevere. She’s Colette. It’s not real._ But he so wanted it to be real.

“What a coincidence, so am I.”

“Then if our meeting is meant to be, let it be so.” She kissed his cheek and dropped her hand. “Au revoir, monsieur.”

* * *

 

Guinevere strode through the crowd of people, confident, yet mystified after the dance. She felt that her nerves were hypersensitive, ready to pounce and kill. Kaufmann wasn’t looking at her as she approached him once more, but she was ready to make him look.

“Did you miss me?” she whispered into his ear as she wrapped an arm around his waist. Though he couldn’t understand the words, she knew he got the message when he stood up straighter and gave her the slightest bit of attention. “My dress, it’s so lovely,” she said, running her hands over her hips. “But it would look even lovelier on the floor.” She slipped her finger underneath the strap and presented her chest toward him to drive her foreign message home.

She reached around his chest, sure to brush against his lapels, to retrieve her clutch. With her free hand, she took his hand with enough force to guide, but only just.

 _Come with me_ she spoke with her eyes.

She tried to keep the bile in her mouth at bay. This was not a connection. What she’d just had with Galahad was a connection. _Don’t get involved._ She scolded herself. Kaufmann came easily and she took him down the corridor to the first open door she could find.

When she turned on the lights, she saw the room was much smaller than she had imagined, but she didn’t need much space at all.  Kaufmann immediately held her against the wall and pressed his lips to hers uncomfortably. In response, she reached down and stroked the inside of his thigh. He pull away immediately and gasped.

She held up a finger to his face. “First, I smoke,” she instructed, firmly, to present her message. She looked down between them to her bag, where she pulled out a single cigarette from her sterling silver case. She balanced the cigarette between softly parted lips, and lit with a match.

Guinevere did not smoke as a rule, but as a spy, she would do many things. She took the longest drag she could without coughing, and then proceeded to let the smoke out in a haze in the inches of space between them. After another similar movement, she draped the arm with the cigarette over Kaufmann’s shoulder and kissed the remaining smoke into his mouth.  


She could feel his body relax beneath as he took in all of her. His hands became clumsy on her slippery hips, but his kisses became much softer and more sensual. In return, her free hand glided over the top of his ear and the back of his arm.

“You are the most pathetic excuse for a man I have had the misfortune to meet,” she breathed into his ear, sending trembles through him once more. She took another drag and surrounded him in smoke. His knees buckled and she took the opportunity to move him to the nearest horizontal surface, which luckily for him, was an outdoor style loveseat. She straddled his lap as he sat upright, and tightened her lips around the cigarette. “I’m surprised you’ve made it this far.” She pinched the roll between her fingers and smacked her lips. She blew the remaining smoke in his direction, and saw his muscles go slack.

“Jesus, took long enough.” She rose from his lap and reached into her clutch for her earpiece, which she promptly stuck into her ear. “Merlin?”

_< <Finally, speaking my language>>_

She wasted no time. “What’s the status on Galahad? Have you got any information on Sokolov?” Thankful for her formal gloves, she started to search Kaufmann’s pockets.

_< <Igor Sokolov, from the look of it, was an engineer for the Soviet Union during the Second World War, maintaining the heavy artillery>>_

“And now he’s working with an East German sympathizer. Any hint as to why?” She retrieved a wallet from his inside pocket and began to sort through the contents. _No business cards. Not a complete_ dummkopf.

_< <No hard evidence>>_

“And Galahad?”

_< <I’ve sent him on a chase for Sokolov with a brief description. According to his file, he’s 1.8 meters tall, 8 stone. Grey hair, hazel eyes. Glasses>>_

Guinevere looked down at Kaufmann’s wrist and saw the clock read 9:54. _< <Are you just going to leave him there? How long will the sedative last?>>_

“Do you take me for an amateur? Arthur didn’t hire me for slapdash work.” She pulled her tube of lipstick and a compact mirror out of her bag, and touched up her face.

* * *

 

About a quarter hour after Guinevere had lured Kaufmann away from the main gala, Harry finished a dance with a handsome American woman and Merlin permeated his ear after a silent ten minutes. _< <Guinevere has Kaufmann compromised, but we cannot risk this deal happening. I need you to incapacitate Sokolov>> _He nodded and approached the bar to finish his drink. He’d not seen the target at all during the dance, which he had purposefully made very large in order to make completely use of the room, so he took a moment to nurse his drink, at least until his elbow was bumped and the—thankfully clear—fluid spilled down the front of his shirt, along with a slur of a language he did not understand.

He and a grey-hair, bearded gentleman looked up at the same time. Harry found himself unable to breathe or even remember a single word of any language, let alone the one he was supposed to be speaking that night. “Ent-Entschuldigen Sie.”

 _< <Don’t lose it now! >> _The man continued to speak  in a hurried Russian as he dabbed at the stain with a handkerchief and Harry just nodded at him. Before he could really react, he was being ushered down the opposite corridor of that which Guinevere disappeared. The hallway was nearly deserted, with the occasional passerby coming from the gents or ladies.

Sokolov pressed Harry into the restroom, which thankfully or not, was empty. It was small, only fit for about two or three people at any given time, so between the stall, urinal, and sink, Harry found little space to move around.

Then again, he didn’t need much.

Both of them reached for the door lock at the same time. Harry backed away quickly. Sokolov lunged at him and shoved him toward the wall. The Kingsman turned him around at the last moment to pin him against the wallpaper. The Russian returned with a knee to the gut. Harry doubled over, but reached up to yank Sokolov’s hair and bring him to his level. With some struggle, Harry straightened up and brought an elbow down to the other man’s left shoulder. Sokolov pushed his feet against the wall and drove both of them to the floor.

The force knocked Harry’s glasses from his face. He rolled to avoid hitting his head on the tile, holding Sokolov close to his chest to keep control, though the man had an iron grip on both of his wrists. Harry got the man under him and used the grip to his advantage, smashing his head against the floor, not hard enough to incapacitate, but enough to get him free. With his now free hand, he touched the back of his signet ring and punched downward to his left chest, sending him into a seizure.

Harry sat on Sokolov’s chest for a minute until he was sure that he wouldn’t get up. He reached down to his wrist and searched for a pulse, to find none. Only then did he stand up, shaken and breathing hard. He reached for the glasses and put them on once more, thankfully they weren’t broken. “Merlin, are you there?”

_< <I am. Are you okay?>>_

“I’ll pull though. I’m just wondering how he knew to come after me.” He quickly when over his interactions with the people around him, which mostly consisted of dances and the conversations that preempted them. He hadn’t seen Sokolov all night, and for him to show up and come after him immediately was confusing Harry. “Is Guinevere alright?”

_< <Right as rain. Just waiting for Kaufmann to come to>>_

“Why not simply leave?”

 _< <His buyer dies and his escort disappears?>> _Harry nodded in understanding and looked down at the Russian at his feet, lying in a puddle of his own mess, eyes wide and reddened, slack from his muscles being suddenly fried with a force 25 times stronger than an electric chair. He looked around the bathroom, and prayed to god that there was not a line of people outside waiting for him. He went over to the corpse, heaved it up by the armpits, and dragged him over to the toilet to place him on top of it. He leaned the upper half against the wall, and tried to make him look somewhat relaxed to a layman. _< <Death a la Elvis. I like it>>_

* * *

 

Harry left the gala after that, but Guinevere had to stick around until the gala ended after the body was discovered as to not raise a considerable amount of suspicion. She did not arrive back at their decoy hotel until 1 in the morning, and from there, she waited for a Kingsman car to take her to the Aldon where she and Harry had their reservations. She thanked god over and over that it was not later.

She walked through the carpeted, dimly lit hallways like a ghost. Visibly shaken, and physically exhausted, she stepped into the lift and upon seeing the attendant, stood up straighter despite the fact that she wanted to crumble. “Drei, bitte,” she instructed with a cracked voice, keeping her eyes firmly on the space just above the young man’s head, as if the intense concentration would keep the rest of her body from trembling.

The lift ride seemed to take an age and half, and when she walked into the hallway, the doors seemed to stretch infinitely in both directions, but she just had one to reach. She removed her shoes from her swollen and aching feet and sighed in relief as the fleshy soles came in contact with the plush carpet. Each step became more bearable and the door got closer and closer. When she reached the last door on the right, she took a moment to just lean against the door.

Her entire body ached and she felt dreadfully dirty. Even her hair still hurt from his grip, and she knew that there would be bruises on her torso the next morning.

_It’s all part of the job._

Her eyes were red from the contacts she never wore. She longed to wrap herself up in a bathrobe or a blanket, or even a sheet. Anything to make her feel protected.

_I’m great at my job._

She thought of Harry. He’d gotten out virtually unscathed, with nothing out of the ordinary for his line of work. She, on the other hand, paid for the life he took. But that was not his fault, was it?

_Sacrifices must be made._

She was angry at Arthur for sending only the two of them, a non-agent and an amateur, on a mission that should have used half a dozen veterans at the very least. She was furious at Merlin for his equipment choices. She was mad at herself for not finishing the job.

And she was livid toward Galahad. She was infuriated that he had not help up his end of the deal to protect her if needed. She was angry that she had any feelings toward him at all, positive or negative. She was irate that she’d taught him how to shave. She detested the way he dressed and the way he felt as if he owned any given room. She despised that he could make German sound just as beautiful as French. She hated Harry Hart with all of her soul.

Until he opened his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are adored! Hope you enjoyed it and hope to update again soon!


	9. Spark, Flame, and Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Guinevere recover after their mission.

He opened the door and saw a stranger.

She tried to hide it. She gasped in surprise and straightened her posture, but he’d already seen the way her shoulders sagged. Her hair had lost its curl and her makeup was smudged around her eyes, red with irritation.

“Evenin’” she greeted, looking straight though him. Harry reached out to usher her inside and she flinched ever so slightly at the contact. She walked quickly past him and let her shoes slip from her fingers just inside the doorway. “Were you going somewhere?” she asked, sitting down on the bed with her arms wrapped around her shivering figure. Harry closed the door, went to the closet and wrapped the bathrobe around her and she clutched it close.

“I was going to see if the bar was still open downstairs. I couldn’t sleep.” He stepped back and leaned against the wall, keeping his distance from his distraught partner. He shifted his weight back and forth, searching for the words but none of them seemed appropriate. _Are you okay?_ Obviously not. _What happened?_ Too forward, if she wants to tell, she will say. _What do you need?_ Not exactly a smooth transition. “Merlin lost contact with you as Kaufmann was coming to.”

“I know,” she responded quickly. “I couldn’t let him see my earpiece. Need to work on an alternative.” She rubbed under her eyes and bit her lip, bouncing her leg nervously all the while.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked. At first she was silent, like she hadn’t heard him at all. Harry worried for a moment that he’d only spoken in his head. When he went to repeat himself, she spoke up and asked for a glass of water. Harry went over to the ice bucket, dropped three cube into a glass, and then poured some tonic water. When he served it to her, she took it in both hands and with a quiet ‘thank you’, took a sip. “Can I sit?” She nodded silently, still holding the glass close to her lips.

When he sat down he looked over at Guinevere in almost a state of awe. He felt that the code name had been stripped away, and what was left was the sister of his best mate with her head still held high but exhausted by her burden. Her eyes were fixed on the window, though the curtains were drawn.  Her lips, virtually free of lipstick, were pressed into a thin line around the rim of the glass which was grasped so tightly in her fingers that the tendons showed through the back of her hand.

“This mission was a disaster, however, Kingsman can learn much from it.” She calmly brought the glass down to her lap, but kept her gaze forward. “You did your job with what you were given. You followed Merlin’s instructions. But Kingsman as an organization failed both of us.” Only then did she look at Harry, and he was taken aback by the fire in her eyes that ran deeper than the superficial redness. “It will _not_ happen again.”

She punctuated each word with heat. Her gaze drilled into him and he felt paralyzed. He saw Guinevere peeking out from the cover of the frightened girl, and he nodded at her. “It will not happen again.” She slowly mirrored his gesture and the thin line of her mouth went crooked.

She let out a whimper, and then choked it down with the rest of her emotions and a swig of tonic water.

Harry hesitated before he spoke again, not knowing how his words would be taken. “Would you like to stay here tonight? I’ll take the sofa.” He could see the deliberation on her face. Her eyebrows wrinkled and raised. The corners of her mouth moved back and forth and she bit her bottom lip. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand and that seemed to make her decision for her.

“I need my glasses. I need out of this dress. And a shower, I need one of those.” She finished the tonic with one more gulp and set the glass on the side table. “But I don’t—” She sighed in resignation. “I don’t want to be alone.” She stood up and shed the bathrobe from her shoulders. “So you can take _my_ sofa.”

* * *

 

Her room was nearly identical to Harry’s, richly decorated with a golden scheme throughout. Her suitcase was open on the ottoman, and an empty garment bag hung unzipped over the closet door.

“What did happen to your dress?” he asked, finally.

“The dress shop is delivering it to the decoy hotel, which will send it back to England. What I shame, I thought it was beautiful and functional.” She dropped her shoes to the floor and made a line for the bathroom. Harry untied his oxfords and set them just inside the door. As he sat down to take off his socks, he swore he heard her mutter “fuck these things” just before she came back out with her glasses on. He held back the laugh as she approached him. A foot away, she turned her back to him. “Unbutton, please.”

The short demand stopped Harry short, and he rose to his feet slowly due to the dizziness he experienced.

He looked over her silhouette and his hands itched to rest on her hips as she stood patient before him. He thought back to the hours before. Had it only been hours? It seemed like another era when they glided across the floor. _Mademoiselle…_ his mind whispered between his ears. She had been so beautiful, enticing. _She had been acting._

And yet, his heart still reached out for her, as his hands did for the buttons along her spine.

He felt her jump and his fingers flew away as if shocked with electricity. “Sorry,” he muttered quickly. He saw her hand fly to her hair and then to her neck.

“It’s okay,” she reassured, looking softly over her shoulder. Harry gently pinched the button between his fingers, and let it pop open. He lowered his hands just slightly, and repeated.

Guinevere’s form relaxed and he felt the pressure against his knuckles. She was close enough that he could smell her hair spray mixed with her jasmine perfume.

Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath. He let his head fall forward to look down at the buttons. His exhale fell on her shoulder blade and he swore he heard her breath shutter.

The buttons felt easier now as his hands approached her waist. As his fingers tickled the small of her back, she straightened up.

Harry looked up toward her shoulder blades once more. In the dim lighting, he couldn’t tell if the discoloration was a shadow, or a bruise.

The last button laid just above her tailbone. She was trembling, most likely from the cold, he thought. Harry willed his eyes forward and bit his lip as his hands worked.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood in the silence, listening to the clock tick away the seconds as they breathed in and out, out of sync. Harry yearned to wrap his arms around her to stop her trembling. To take her hand and reassure her that all would be well, despite whatever had happened to her. To kiss her and take the pain for himself.

But he couldn’t do it.

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder so far that they made eye contact. “Is that all of them?” He parted his lips to speak, but he could only manage a nod. She looked away, straight down her shoulder as if thinking about a reply and then turned to face him. “Thank you.” Another nod from him, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at their mutually bare feet. Harry saw her raise her hand, and insisted that she reached toward him, but she retracted it at the last moment to touch her own mouth. Harry’s own hand retreated deeper into his pocket “I’m going to shower. Make yourself comfortable.”

And with a turn, and the shut of a door, she was gone once more.

Upon their return to England the next day, the two partners parted ways after a quick look over in the medical wing and a debriefing with Merlin and Arthur, where Guinevere, surprisingly to Harry, kept her mouth shut. He had expected fire from her lips; instead, he hardly got smoke.

* * *

 

Guinevere sat in an armchair, rolling a glass of scotch lightly between her fingers. She had been sitting in the library for over an hour, warning the veteran agents that she was not to be disturbed. One would think that her apartments would bring her solace, but Merlin liked to work and eat her food, and Galahad frequently came knocking.

Galahad. It had been a week since Berlin, and she was still burning inside with an inferno of emotions. Anger, fear, frustration, most definitely, and a couple she hardly had names for as she experienced them so infrequently.

 _Love is for children_ she chided to herself.

She lowered her glass to the arm of the chair as the door opened. “Arthur said you needed to see me, ma’am?”

“Yes, please sit, Peter.” The young candidate walked over to the adjacent seat, his German shepherd trotting diligently beside him. When he said, the dog followed suit. “I wanted to talk to you about your candidacy.” The boy’s posture did not relax, and her eye contact did not waver. It was hard for her to believe that he was only a year younger than Galahad. “We did not start on the kindest of terms, did we?” She brought the Scotch to her lips once more and waited for his response.

“No, ma’am, we did not.” His face remained stoic. “But you said to us then that part of your job was making us into gentlemen. Into Kingsmen.”

“My work is only effective if my advice is taken.”

“Anyone who does not take your guidance is a fool.” She shot him a satisfied smile and took another short sip.

“Your dog is well behaved also. What’s his name?” He reached down to pet the dog’s head with a smile

“Hamilton.”

Her heart stopped. She wouldn’t let her face betray her. She heard him describing how he got to that name, but she didn't really comprehend the words. “Good, strong name,” she told him plainly. She set down her glass on the table next to her, and exchanged it for her handgun. The last thing Elaine ever made. She palmed it in her grip, wrapped her finger around the trigger, and pointed it in the middle of Peter’s forehead.

Peter straightened up. Everything about him tightened, but he did not take his eyes off Guinevere, whose own pupils seemed to widen as if to take in a target. Her grip did not waver or tremble, until she relaxed her hand and allowed the gun to fall and balance around her index finger.

“Take it,” she ordered. He reached out tentatively and positioned it in his hand. He looked as if he’d never held a gun before, the way his face contorted into one of confusion. Guinevere sat back in her seat, took her glass delicately between her fingers, and finished it in silence. Her calm demeanor did not reflect her trembling heart, her hyperactive mind, and her sudden terror.

She looked down at the dog. A beautiful, robust dog, disciplined and loyal. But under the beauty and faithfulness, its nature told it to run free, and to exact sometimes fatal damage.

Guinevere looked up at Peter, and drilled him just as he had at their first meeting, and pointedly gave him another command.

“Shoot the dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are adored! Feeling really good about these last chapters and what's yet to come!


	10. What's in a name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after Berlin, Guinevere looks over Harry's feed for answers, and gets much more into his head that she planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long hiatus! Lots of life changes since the last chapter. I'm so excited to get back into it and return to these characters. Comments and kudos are adored as always. Thanks for your patience!

“We had to miss something.”

Guinevere sat in central, clicking through Galahad’s feed frame by frame. She’d run her fingers through her hair so many times it was terribly out of place and her makeup ran from her watery eyes with each yawn. She removed her glasses, leaned back in her chair, and rubbed the bridge of her nose before finishing off her coffee, her fourth cup of the day. She was thankful for the silence that came with Merlin going to retrieve dinner. They still had over an hour’s worth of real time feed to search through.

Merlin returned with a plate balanced in each hand. Roast beef with a side of potatoes, gravy, peas, and carrots. Guinevere immediately started to separate her vegetables.

“I saw Harry upstairs,” he said as he sat back down.

“Is that what took you? I was beginning to wonder if you got lost.” He reached over and gave her a shove, spinning her chair around one full revolution. “Did you inform him of just how _incredibly_ dull it is to watch what he sees?”

“Of course.” She smiled at him and started to slice into her meat. “I feel like we should be getting into the thick of it soon though.” He leaned forward and started to fast forward through the car ride to the venue.

Guinevere looked over at her brother. “Can I inquire as to something about him? Something personal?”

“That depends on what you want to know.” He mixed his vegetables in with his potatoes and scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

She paused and manipulated her food slowly with her utensils before she let out her burning question. “Does he fancy me?”

Merlin raised his eyebrows and took a substantial amount of time to swallow his bite. Guinevere shook her head and went back to the feed. He finally spoke up. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because I may be repressed but I’m not blind. Not anymore. I’m the best at my job and he keeps making me look inadequate. I’m wondering if he’s distracted or just stupid.”

“I…he hasn’t told me anything.” Guinevere slowly turned toward her brother and stared him down over her glasses. “He hasn’t!” Without a word, she turned back to the screen, which showed Galahad walking up the steps. They watched the visual and listened to the sounds around them in slow motion, waiting for an inkling on how Harry became a target so quickly.

            When she developed the glasses, she had not quite prepared herself for the emotional impact that would come with watching the footage. She always knew that the entire point was to see what the agent saw, but what she discovered was that she had developed more than a camera. A camera captured what someone intended it to see. The glasses, on the other hand, saw everything.

            She saw the way that Galahad took the time to admire the architecture around him just as much as she saw him looking in reflective surfaces to make sure his bow tie was straight and his hair still in place. He looked down at his watch, nodded at passers-by, and held his head up high. At times, she felt that she was in Galahad’s head.

But in reality, she knew nothing of it.

He ordered a drink in a manner far too snobbish for what it was. She couldn’t hold back rolling her eyes. “It’s a fucking martini with gin!” she shouted at the screen with her mouth half full. She covered her mouth and swallowed. “Six years with Kingsman. You’d think that I would have gotten used to English aristocrats by now. They make mum look common.”

 _< <Guinevere and target are in the building>>_ Galahad turned his attention from the dance floor to the top of the stairs. Her nerves buzzed at the sight of herself, recalling the night as if it had happened moments before. Her nakedness, fear, and the necessity to hide it all. The feeling so familiar, and yet still as terrifying.

 _< <_ _Scheiße >>_

Her heart stopped. The single word was only a breath. Merlin hadn’t even caught it. But in that single syllable, the nervousness that itched under her skin vanished and she put herself back into the Berlin hotel. His gentle touch as he handled the delicate satin of her dress. The feeling of his breath on her shoulder and his fingers on the small of her back.

“His German was impeccable,” she remarked, to distract herself from the emotions swirling through her head. “If there was one asset we did need on this mission, he brought it.”

“If we simply needed a linguist, we could have sent you alone.”

“And I would have returned in a body bag” The bruises under her skin had faded from blue to yellow but she could still feel the tender spots as she tossed in her bed at night.

Merlin alternated his gaze between his plate and the screen. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a wonderful time at the gala.” Galahad looked toward her and she smiled at him politely.

“The company makes or breaks any event. You’re seeing the more agreeable parts.” She swallowed down the images Merlin had not seen and they tasted bitter and hard in her throat. She looked back at Galahad’s feed, just as he turned and guided her toward the dance floor.

Guinevere never liked how she sounded on recordings. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to, so when the situation presented itself, she cringed further into her chair and scowled at her carrots. She couldn’t help but mentally criticize her French as she and Galahad volleyed back and forth in flirty undertones as the background spun behind her face that dominated the feed.

Merlin scolded them as Galahad’s voice changed and Guinevere’s heart stopped. Their dancing slowed and she leaned in and out of the feed’s view and spoke into Galahad’s ear _< <Igor Sokolov>>_

“Shit, stop!” she shouted, diving for the pause button. Merlin jumped back and nearly spilled his dinner down the front of his sweater.

“Christ alive!” he shouted, setting down his plate. “What is it?” But she didn’t grace him with an answer. She rewound the feed, frame by frame. Merlin learned in next to her. They adjusted their glasses simultaneously and clicked…clicked…clicked.

“Oh…shit.”

* * *

 

_< <Guinevere requests your presence in her apartments at your earliest convenience>>_

“Do you mean at _her_ earliest convenience?”

 _< <Indeed. So put on your trousers and get down here immediately>> _The handler hung up the phone before Harry could inquire further. He threw on a thick cardigan and headed toward the east end of the house

 _< <Come in, _Galahad _> > _Guinevere’s prerecorded voice greeted as his biometrics were verified. The lock disengaged and he walked into the room lit only by a handful of lamps. He looked over to the corner where the computer sat, paused on a moment of feed where Guinevere’s face blurred with her fluid movements. He heard activity in the kitchen, the only other source of light, and gravitated that way.

She turned the corner and nearly ran into him. Tea splashed out of the cups from the sudden change in momentum, but her reflexes caught most of it before it could fall to the floor.

“I need to put a bell on you, honestly.”

“I will take that as a compliment, given our profession.” Harry swore that in the spectrum of expressions that crossed her ruby lips, he sensed that she was trying to hide a smile. She offered him one of the cups before she walked past him to the seating area where they always held their more personal debriefings. “Where is Merlin?”

“Gone to speak to Arthur. This business concerns you and I.” Harry froze just before he asked to sit down. Was this about what happened in the hotel room? Or his so-called flirting? Oh god it was, wasn’t it.

“Can…can I sit?” he asked awkwardly, half hovering above the seat. Guinevere nodded to him as she raised the cup to her lips. Harry felt as if he was sitting before his headmistress, the way she carried herself like a dignitary who had been fighting her whole life to be her colleagues’ equal.

“This is regarding the business of Sokolov, how he knew to come after you. Are you healing well?” Harry situated himself, took a sip of his tea, and nodded as he set it back down on the saucer.

“Yes, thank you. And yourself?”

“Quite well, thank you.” She cleared her throat and sipped from the cup. “Merlin and I reviewed your footage. I will preface that this is in no way your fault. If anything, it was mine. I should have been more discreet.” She leaned forward to rise from her chair.

“It was when you said his name, wasn’t it?” She froze, and lowered herself back into the seat. She pushed a stray hair out of her face and straightened her posture once more. “Not your most clever moment.”

“Certainly not. But—” She sighed and bided her time by taking a deliberate sip from her tea, savoring the flavors as uncertainty hung in the air like a fog. After what seemed like an age, her cup clinked back onto the saucer and she looked Harry square in the eyes. “Galahad, I must be frank. This issue was only half of the reason I called you here.”

Harry set his tea aside. “Guinevere, is something wrong?”

“That is not entirely up to me.” Now Harry’s was the face that held the confusion. “Do not act like you have no idea what I’m speaking of. You were there in Berlin as much as I was.” His heart stopped and a wave of nausea crashed inside of him. Dim lights, satin, and bare skin. He swallowed the memories down with his tea

“Yes, I believe that I do know what this is about. And let me be the one to extend an apology for my conduct.” He set his cup on the side table and set his hands in front of him on his knee. “I fear that I crossed a line. However, if I may be so bold, I crossed it because I felt invited.”

Guinevere drew in a breath and closed her eyes. “That is the problem,” she said, enunciating every word. “Being—seductive—has always been part of my job. The problem comes when I can no longer distinguish between work and life. I invited you in and I hardly realized I was doing it. I fell in too deep.” She remained calm and, but her voice cracked on the final word. She pressed her lips together and returned her gaze solely to Harry.

Harry desperately tried to read her. She sat straighter, tense, but he could see her foot shaking. The corner of her mouth twitched and she hid her hands. A storm raged inside her and Harry felt that a strong wind blew through all of his thoughts and kept them from making any coherent sentences.

“For God’s sake, Galahad, please say something,” she pleaded, though her face reflected more prompting than desperation. “That was not easy for me to admit.”

Harry nodded. “I realize that.” He shifted in the chair, trying to call upon the charming demeanor he possessed in college and even while on missions, but it was lost on Guinevere in this moment. “Perhaps it would ease your conscious to know that I too, have felt similar?”

She sighed into her cup of tea and then set it down in her lap. For a couple ticks of the clock, she didn’t even look up at Harry. She just smiled toward the floor and let a few laughs escape through her nose.

“It’s a funny thing, infatuation, isn’t it?” She looked up at him once more and her whole demeanor seemed to brighten. She set down her tea and started to take a slow turn about the room. “I’ve tried so hard to keep myself from being vulnerable. But how could I? It’s my job to be inside of your heads, to make your survival into my own. The agent-handler relationship has a unique amount of intimacy, but this…this is something new.”

Harry felt that this was seeing inside of her head, like she was thinking out loud. He watched her glide around the room as if she was working through a difficult problem or making a critical judgement call. Grace under pressure. This calm sureness that he’d admired about her since the first day they’d met.

He mimicked her movement and crossed in front of her path. She paused, inches away, and brought her gaze up to him. “So what is the next plan of action then?”

She brought her hand down from her mouth and crossed her arms in front of her, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Because I fear that anything more than this would become a…complication.”

Harry’s brows came together and he tilted his head toward her, taken aback. “A _complication?”_

She put her arms to her sides and her jaw fell open for a moment before words tumbled out once more. “I don’t know how many times I can tell you. It’s not advantageous to make friends in this line of work!”

“But you can’t just go through life avoiding meaningful connections to people! Yes, it can be painful. Hearts are broken. There is suffering. People die. It’s not exclusive to Kingsman. But if you create distance, that’s _all_ you’re going to have.”

Her posture tensed even further and her breathing became audible. Harry took another step toward her, and she tilted her head up to look at him. As he broke their gaze, he let his hand come forward to brush the outside of her own. Her eyebrows curved upwards and her lip trembled, sending a wave throughout her body to her hand. Harry wrapped his thumb around to her palm and stroked it in an attempt to comfort the conflicted woman.

“I don’t know what your story is…what made you take a whole different name—” She looked down and he felt her fingers start to wrap around his. The distance between them was nearly closed as his left hand mimicked his right. “But I would like to help you carry the burden.”

He felt her head against his chest, and he breathed deeply against the weight. He stroked the top of her hands with his thumbs and she squeezed back so tightly it was nearly painful. “I hate you for making me feel this way,” she admitted toward the floor.

Harry found himself in a mental standstill. He’d never known someone as complex as Guinevere, and the signals she gave were just as complicated. “What do you need right now?” he asked lowly, still stroking her hands. He imagined no other way to ensure the correct course of action otherwise.

Guinevere let out a heavy sigh and took a step back to look up at him. “It is not so often I find myself out of my depth, these days,” she stated. “Though now it seems to happen all the more frequently. Truth be told, I don’t know what I need. Certainly not you.” Her voice had a tone of kindness but her words stabbed into Harry’s chest. Guinevere reached out and put a gentle pressure on the (metaphorical) wound. “But that does not mean that I do not want you, and is that not more important?”

His head shot up and all he saw was a hint of a smile and makeup runny from emotion and a long day. She ran her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and let her hand rest on his shoulder. She licked and bit her lip nervously, eyeing his own. Harry’s now free hand cradled her back and she stood up straighter, their faces closer together than ever. He could feel each breath on his cheek as her body relaxed beneath his palm. He inched his head forward cautiously, and when she did not retreat, he closed his eyes and tilted his head just slightly to the left.

The connection was not electric. It was not overwhelming, powerful, or raw. It was (just) a kiss between two people. Chests were pressed together as Harry pulled her close. Arms wrapped around Harry’s neck. For a handful of moments, Kingsman did not matter (nor did anything else). It was only the two of them, trying to hold on to the feeling as long as they could.

When their lips parted, their bodies remained together in each other’s arms. She used one hand to run her fingers through her hair as she cleared her throat. She nodded toward his chest and then looked up at him once more, her mouth open for words long before they came out.

“You’re a fine man…Harry Hart.”

Two words in a breathy tone gave enough air to make a spark into a flame.


End file.
